all the burning,
all the words
dissolve from the morning
into the day.
tasks of keeping,
absorb the notes,
and rhyme,
batteries deplete, and the soaring
falls, with pockets of stone,
and disappointment....

7

:: soft words ::

i dread the cold,
and as i write the words
the fear deepens

fear the ground
will slip
and the bones
will
ache as i walk
the frozen.

fear of falling,
breaking,
and losing
the soft words
of my life

8

Leaning Slightly.Grey

9

10

:: face ::

mist rose before me,
unexpected.

those words he wrote
dumbfounded me
a moment,
as i raised my eyes
saw the most beautiful
controlled face,
and i fell.

11

:: the museum ::
no , not the coliseum.

bangor.

i limped.

into the cathedral.
my life will be sorted,
if i bought the book @
ÂŁ1.99, and suffering is good.

i looked at the boys,
looked at the floor,
read ecclesiastes,
we are as dust,
and limped out.

12

perfume retained,
m & s bras also
indicated unreasonable
thought.

the museum saved the day,
with everyday small stuff,
not of gods, of children,
housewives, lady landovery
tiny waists and tea cups,
the saviours here.

she told me
that
her uncle,
in war painted
white crosses on men who deserted.

an aim for those
who shot them.

she said,
he was never the same after.

15

:: sleeping ::
are you sleeping
cariad bach

while i watch the burying,
the pain,
the madness,
the snowdrops.

are you sleeping,
while they hold her up.

cariad bach.

16

Breakthrough

17

18

:: running ::
so far they led us
into the green hills,
where we stood back
and let the past follow.

dealt with dice,
life becomes
abstract,
dreaming
of distances and partitions

if only
it lasted longer

19

:: bones ::

i talk to bones
old bones now
hard in earth
and the ground comes up to meet me.

no leaves to cover
Me

20

:: wading in treacle ::

brown swollen water here,
water rooted black trees,
stranded sheep,
i gloried in the medieval painting,
the wind lifting my hair,
then the day slowed,
and dragged and wearied.

I drew the monkey,
and took myself
upstairs to sleep
to rid myself of the number,
and slept as a child.

21

:: sheep tracks ::
its a tidal river,
the sea water comes in to the bridge,
where they used to build boats.
the river full and still, mid flow,
i watched and looked early,
i noted the sheep tracks where we run,
parallel.

'don't jump', he said, as if i would,
the grave digger, grinning,
' happy new year'
and the same to you, angel.
4 years ago,
i may have jumped,
after you buried him.

its those like you,
that see the beauty of the river,
where the seal comes to play,
and the tide goes up to the bridge.

so we laugh and wave,
and go on our way
up to the bridge.

22

Secrets

23

24

:: the bath ::

when the wind and rain drive east
up the estuary, hitting the house,
i turn over and sleep, a treat
for waking early so many days

dreams seep in, like basement water .
real, real until waking,
unexpected, unexplained,
leaving my hair on end,
a severe need for tea,
and the bath.

i have done this,
when all else are asleep,
stitching, thinking,
listening to the rain.

when the voices stopped,
i asked how much.
one pound? yes
i will love it, thank you

fled quickly away
26

Midnight at the Cathedral

27

28

Postcard show at APW Gallery, New York

29

Sonja Benskin Mesher is an artist/ poet whose studio is in a medieval longhouse in
Llanelltyd, North Wales surrounded by mountains, lakes and rivers. Sonjaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s writing is
a mirror of her visual artistry, in that it opens a window for the reader to delve deeper
into meanings of life.

She has won numerous awards for her artwork , exhibits in galleries around the globe
and was recently elected as a member of United Society of Artists.
This is her first collection of poetry and we are honored to bring her unique gifts to you.

For more information on her artwork and poetry, please visit her here:
Artwork: www.sonja-benskin-mesher.com
Poetry: http://bit.ly/JsB8s
Face Book: http://on.fb.me/gmUZCB